Virgin Wanted

By: Sierra Cole

BWWM Billionaire Romance


“Oh my god!” Monisha gasps in surprise, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What is it?” I ask, wondering what kind of job advert in the newspaper could possibly have got someone like her so shocked. I mean, almost nothing shocks this girl.

“Okay, listen to this one,” she says, as a strangely playful grin spreads across her face. “Virgin wanted for one week. No experience necessary. Excellent pay and benefit package, to be discussed upon application ... I mean, come on! Seriously?!”

“That’s so gross,” I laugh, shaking my head and trying to turn away a little in my seat to hide the blush that comes to my face whenever anyone mentions virgins in conversation.

I look around the totally deserted lobby of the large office buildings where Monisha and I both work as receptionists – well, for one more month, anyway.

You see, the firm we’re employed by is closing down in twenty-eight days time, when this building is getting turned into luxury apartments, and soon we’ll both be out of a job. There are no more clients to assist, and almost no phone calls to take, which is why we’ve both just been sitting here all morning, openly reading the job section of the local newspaper. And I bet even if our boss did catch us, he wouldn’t be able to say anything. In fact, he’s probably up there in his office right now, wondering how he’s gonna make payments on his car and house next month, too.

“Hey, you mind if I go outside for a smoke break?” Monisha asks just then.

“Sure, go for it,” I smile back, even though this is her forth smoke break of the morning, and it’s not even 11 a.m. “I mean, it’s not exactly like we’re busy,” I add with a shrug.

As she pushes herself to her feet and heads outside for a cigarette, her high heels clicking loudly on the polished floor and echoing around the large deserted lobby, I turn back to my sketchbook.

With no real work to do anymore, I figure at least I can work on some new dress designs. After all, if I’m lucky I’ll have some job interviews to go to soon, and at the moment I have nothing particularly suitable in my wardrobe, and no money to buy anything to wear, either. Not for the first time, I thank the Lord that at least I saved up for that second-hand sewing machine while I was able to.

I stare hard at my latest design, trying to focus my attention. But for some reason I just can’t concentrate on the simple grey shift dress I’ve been sketching anymore, because I can hear the words of the advert again, repeating over and over in my head like an echo: Virgin wanted ...

I nervously scan the empty lobby again, making double – no triple – sure that I’m alone, and then I gingerly slide the newspaper over from Monisha’s side of the reception desk and quickly flip through it until I’ve found the advert again.

It’s in the very back, in the ‘Personal Services’ section, nestled in amongst the more obviously sleazy advertisements – ‘Girls Wanted for Adult Modeling Work’ and ‘Escort Services’ and so forth ...

Virgin Wanted

For one week. No experience necessary. Excellent pay and benefit package, to be discussed upon application. For more information, email: [email protected] I look forward to hearing from you.

Then I flip to a blank page at the very back of my sketchbook and quickly copy down the email address, feeling my heart hammering hard against my ribs.

What the hell am I even doing? I think as I scrawl down the address.

Only a moment later, I hear the loud click of Monisha’s heels on the lobby floor once again and I look up, startled, quickly flipping the newspaper closed and then turning back in my sketchbook to the dress design.

Monisha sighs and slips back into her chair, picking up the paper and scanning through it for what must be the tenth time this morning, as if she’s hoping that magically an advert for a job she’s suitable for will suddenly appear on one of the pages.

“Virgin wanted,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “As if it wasn’t hard enough to get a damn job these days. Now they want you to be a virgin too? Well ... Good luck with that!”

I don’t know how to reply. I’m just too embarrassed and worried that whatever I say will somehow give away the fact that I copied the advert down – so instead I just choose to ignore her and hope that she changes the subject soon.

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